


Dog Whisperer, I Am Not

by Dr_Cat



Series: Like Minded [3]
Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Jack Russells, Morning Routines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22955095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Cat/pseuds/Dr_Cat
Summary: They say dogs make great companions, but sometimes they need a little help and a friend can show up, even when they don't recognize it.
Series: Like Minded [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642711
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Dog Whisperer, I Am Not

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own nor did I come up with Knight Rider or the characters mentioned in this story. They were created by Glen A. Larson and are copyrighted to NBC/Universal

_Bark! Bark!_

A small black and white dog darted between a young Caucasian woman's legs and out the side door she had just opened; an annoyed breath of air through the woman's lips escaping as well. Judging by the look of frustration on her face, experience must have taught her nothing could stop the Jack Russell terrier once he spotted something of interest. It appears to be a squirrel this time.

Her black hair swirled around in the November wind and her black eyes narrowed as she walked out to the end of her driveway, black high heels clicking along the concrete. It appeared she was just getting ready to leave for work, dressed in her grey pants suit and blue jacket.

"Emerson, get back here!" she shouted half-heartedly as if knowing it wasn't going to work. The dog was obsessed with barking at the tree he believed the bushy-tailed rodent resided in. A neighbor clad in a green robe was in the act of getting his newspaper when he spotted the scene.

"Hey, Cheryl! He got out again didn't he?!" the older man called out.

"Yeah, Carlos. You'd think I'd learn to check behind me by now," Cheryl said with a half-smile. Her accent indicated she was from Western New York originally, nothing strange for the tourist state of Florida, but indicative of a recent move.

"Well, at least he stays in the area. See ya later," the man voiced as he walked back up to his home.

"Come on, Emerson, let's go," Cheryl scowled coming up behind the pooch. However, just as the Jack was within her reach, he bolted to her right; away from her and towards the busy road at the end of their street. A look of horror sprouted on her face.

"Emerson! NO!" Cheryl shouted as she began running down the road as best she could in heels. Whatever had possessed the dog to pursue that direction was still in effect, because the animal showed no signs of stopping and neither did the morning rush hour traffic. Cheryl's heart was pounding in her chest, breathing in rapid gasps, anxiety rising. She obviously loved that little dog. It was understandable being she was the single occupant in a new apartment, at a new job in a new state with only her little buddy to always make it better. Now, her canine friend was a full forty yards away from her heading towards his demise.

"Please, God, no."

Just as Emerson's front paws hit the threshold that would have certainly carried him over into dog heaven, I whistled. It caused him to stop and turn around. As Cheryl drew closer she seemed amazed to see me parked at the end of her street, swinging open my passenger door and whistling for her dog. I could tell what she was thinking.

She'd never seen this strange Trans Am before but was extremely grateful it was here today as her dog made a beeline for it. I figured, like most dogs, Emerson loved to go for rides in the car and would drop anything to do so. Cheryl ran up to me and scooped up the Jack as if he would vanish any moment. She leaned in ready to give the _driver_ her heartfelt gratitude no doubt, but found no one; the cabin was empty. Just a brightly lit dashboard, tan plush seats and myself.

"Who whistled? Who opened the door?"

"I could answer that for you, but I have a feeling you wouldn't believe me," I said; a voice from seemingly nowhere. The woman backed up from the car as her dog barked. I shut the door slowly, anticipating her to keep her distance and start hammering me with fearful questions, but instead, she stopped and placed a calm hand over her dog's muzzle. The canine instantly silenced; obviously, a well-practiced command shared between them.

"I don't know what I would believe at this point, but I know if you weren't here to save Emerson's life I don't know what I'd do. Thank you. Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked with a soft smile. I sensed a familiar warming of my systems; a sign I was encountering unreadable data again. It wasn't an overall disconcerting sensation, just uncomfortably present. Logically, I had to reason it away.

"No, I'm just glad I could help. I'm sure anyone in my position would have done the same thing," I said matter of fact.

"Maybe, but it's not every day you meet up with a talking car who rescues animals."

"I can't argue with you there," I stated thoughtfully. Technically, I wasn't supposed to respond to anyone. I'm to remain a _top-secret_ item of FLAG's unless otherwise directed, but I don't think this woman is about to go run and tell the whole world. For one, who would believe her and two, she didn't seem the sort. Anyhow, I am curious about one thing.

"Emerson is a unique name for a dog. Do you mind me asking what made you pick it?"

"Not at all. It's actually kind of funny. He was a gift from a friend in Buffalo. He had been the runt of the litter and they hadn't been able to sell him so I took him. At first, I didn't know what to name him, but he loved the sound of my vacuum cleaner whenever I pulled it out. He would try to crawl up on it and sleep or scratch at the closest door for me to pull it out. One day I just called him my little Emerson and it stuck."

"That is amusing, in a way."

"Well, my name's Cheryl . . . I can't believe I'm introducing myself to a car, but what's yours?" Cheryl asked shifting Emerson from her left arm to her right. Adults didn't usually ask me my name; children naturally, but not adults. This was a dilemma. Normally, I wouldn't formally introduce myself unless Michael gave me express permission to do so, but it would be rude of me to ignore her question, considering she meant no harm. I presume an informal introduction would be fine.

"Most people call me Kitt."

"Well, Kitt, thanks for everything and if you or . . . whoever um . . ."

"Yes, I do have a driver; he's just not with me at the moment."

"Oh, good. Well, if you, or your driver, ever need anything, just ask. I live up the road here. In fact, I just moved in a couple of months ago from Rochester. Um, I'm actually going to be late for my new job so, please, excuse me. I have to go," she explained as she turned and hurriedly made her way back up the street.

I watched as she made it to her home and ushered the little dog inside before she walked to her grey sedan in the driveway. She glanced back in my direction and then climbed into her vehicle. I heard her turn over the engine and drop into reverse gear, pulling out of her property and onto the road that only moments ago she had been running scared on. As she pulled up to the stop sign I was near, she waved at me. I flashed my scanner to imitate her gesture and a bright, genuine smile lit up her features. She pulled out into traffic and I watched until her car disappeared from my range. I couldn't help but hope she had a wonderful day to offset such a troublesome morning.

Speaking of bothersome start-ups, I wonder how Michael's getting along with our new client in there. Miss Rinehart didn't seem all that receptive to my partner's overeager charms earlier and it is her testimony we need to break this case as they say. Suddenly, I heard the door to the residence I was parked in front of open and Michael stepped out. He had a smile on his face. No surprise there considering our client was young and attractive, but the mischievous flicker in his eye alarmed me. What was he up to?

"For a guy who yells at them for even sniffing his hubcaps, you're a regular dog whisperer," he grinned at me, placing a hand on my roof.

"Well, I certainly couldn't let the little guy run out into traffic. They may shed and smell and have questionable taste in food, but they don't deserve to be run over," I said calmly, though my defensive position on my actions was palpable. I'm not a dog lover by any means, but I don't hate them. In fact, I like dogs when they mind their manners. Michael just shook his head, giving me a meaningful look.

"I know. Good work, buddy," he said while opening the door. As he climbed into the driver's seat I couldn't help but wonder . . .

"I thought you were talking with Miss Rinehart; how did you even know I helped the little _fur-ball_?" I asked with just enough disgruntlement on the word to dispel any notion of this dog whisperer business. Michael's smile seemed to grow bigger.

"We heard all the commotion outside and looked out the window and there you were helping to save the _little guy_. You have to admit that you do have a way with animals."

"I don't have to admit anything except that I'm curious if you got the information we needed to start the case or not?" I asked, hoping to bring the conversation to our primary mission. He nodded with a frown, starting the vehicle and placing his hands on the steering yoke.

"Yeah, we're heading to the South Florida Botanical Gardens. Plot me a course to USF," he said with weakened enthusiasm from what he showed just a few seconds ago. I was somewhat baffled and concerned by his sudden change in mood.

"What's the matter, Michael?"

"Nothing, buddy," he said before pausing; whether to collect his thoughts or weigh his options, I couldn't tell. Then he continued.

"I just don't feel like talking to a bunch of university professors about the ins and outs of plant life, that's all."

I rolled his statement around in my processor for a moment. In the past, I would have mistaken his lack of zeal over the prospect as just another example of his blasé attitude towards cultured experiences, but now I understood it as the trepidation it was. He didn't want to be surrounded by people, possibly very evil people, who he felt were at . . . an intellectual advantage. This was a rather unfortunate self-assessment by my driver. I believe Michael is a brilliant individual in his own right. However, in this case, it may be best to play down his anxiety with my earlier axioms, or, at least, I hope this is the best approach.

"Don't worry, Michael, it won't be that tedious and who knows you might find it interesting. Besides, I'll be with you. I could give you a virtual tour of the whole 7 acres before you go in if you like," I said, seeing the small smile pull at the corner of his mouth, "The plants are arranged by their geographic, taxonomic and cultural needs to demonstrate how their specimens are related to one another. They even focused on climate themes, like the desert, aquatics, Mediterranean and tropical. They also have a section dedicated to the animals that inhabit these . . ."

"Okay, okay," he said with a full grin, "If you say it's alright, it's alright."

Mission Accomplished.

"I say it's alright," I reply with confidence until I notice the impish gleam in his eyes again. I add with my own brand of hesitation:

"And?"

" _And_ , if I just so happen to run into any more of our canine friends, I'll know just the animal charmer to call."

* * *

 _Therefore encourage one another and build each other up,_ _just as in fact you are doing. 1 Thessalonians 5:11_


End file.
